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So, this one time—true story, folks—I’m in Vegas, big league town, the best. See this gal, total whore, struttin’ like she owns it. High heels, attitude, hair teased up—tremendous look, really fantastic. She’s workin’ the room, makin’ cash, and I’m thinkin’, “This ain’t no country for old men!” She’s got that hustle, that fire—nobody does it better. Reminds me of Anton Chigurh, y’know? Cold, calculatin’, but sexy—dangerous sexy, the best kind.

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But then, I hear shouting. I look over, and there’s a guy arguing with a street vendor. Something about a crepe. I can’t even. “It’s just a crepe, man!” I yell. He turns and glares at me. Oops.

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